Sketches
by LBx
Summary: Love is in the details. SatoshiDaisuke drabble collection
1. Sketch I

_**Bloodlines**_

Daisuke Niwa stands alone in the darkened hall. The moonlight reaches to touch him, but cannot, and so the red haired man is left encased in shadows, fingers stretched out to run along a fine wood frame.

Satoshi Hiwatari watches from the doorway to the bedroom. His glasses dangle precariously between callused fingers, the lens reflecting the moonlight that shines from the bedroom window.

Daisuke wets his lips, fingers hesitating at the bottom-right corner of the painting's frame. "Dark dies with me."

Satoshi cocks an eyebrow, raising his glasses to wipe them on the sleeve of his nightshirt. "The end to a long line of thieves. The end to a long line of artists."

Daisuke turns and meets Satoshi's gaze. He takes a step toward the bedroom, and the moonlight greedily touches his feet. Shadows dance on the walls as Daisuke tugs Satoshi's glasses away, his heart quickening as their fingers brush and eyes meet in silent understanding.

It is an end, but also a beginning.


	2. Sketch II

_**Mornings**_

One of the things Satoshi quickly learned about Daisuke was that he often woke up having fervent, internal monologues with Dark. Their first morning together, Daisuke had woken with a yelp and sat straight up, face flushed a brilliant shade of red as he gaped helplessly at the wall, fingers curled in the bed sheets. It had taken a moment for Satoshi to figure out what was going on, helped along by Daisuke's embarrassed groan of "Dark" as the flaming young man tried to bury his head in his hands.

"Quiet, Dark," Satoshi murmured as he took Daisuke's hands, kissing the young man soundly. In response, Daisuke clasped firm hands at the base of Satoshi's neck, no doubt trying to kiss the niggling voice out of his head.

Another morning, Satoshi had awoken to find himself next to Dark. He'd stared impassively at the dark haired young man, until the smug look on Dark's face disappeared and the body morphed into Daisuke's slim form, the redhead muttering, "sorry," when he found himself faced with the stern look.

"Tell Dark that just because I accept him …" Satoshi let the sentence trail off, a small smile flitting across his face as Daisuke grinned.

It certainly made things more interesting, having to love the both of them together.


	3. Sketch III

_**Angel**_

_Silver and gold,_ Daisuke thinks as soft wings enfold him. His plummet ceases and he finds himself gazing at glimmering stars_. Heaven and hell, and here we are somewhere in between._

He's set on cold stone. Unable to support his weight, his knees collide with the hard surface and he pitches forward into those warm arms _(and heaven's angel watching over me). _There's a rustle of feathers and his angel leans down, so that they are at eye level.

Beautiful blue eyes, streaked with brilliant gold, gaze back at him. "Niwa?"

The illusion doesn't shatter, but something nudges his mind at the sound of the low voice. _I want you to always stay near me._

"Don't," he moans and fingers the silvery-blue hair. Fine pale skin, completely unmarred, slides beneath his fingertips. "Don't." _Let me steal a kiss from you, angel._

Just for tonight, he wants to visit heaven.


	4. Sketch IV

_**Forbidden**_

When the curtain falls Satoshi doesn't spare him a look. Instead he heads offstage, back to the classroom to change out of his costume, the play now over and everything that transgressed behind them. Yet as Daisuke stands there staring out at the empty auditorium, Satoshi's words seem to reverberate in the air. A ghost hand is still settled on the small of his back, their bodies pressed close as they act out the forbidden love story, and he wonders if it's their story. Is he living off each fleeting touch, each matched gaze and each destined meeting, enjoying the attention Satoshi gives him because of their family histories?

'Fool,' Daisuke murmurs, but his voice is lost to the silence. Even if they did share something, nothing could ever come of it. There is too much animosity in their pasts. Love cannot be founded on a common hatred nor a common burden. They're in this together, and yet they are not, for their roles set them against each other: the thief and the guardian, of which only one can triumph.

He can still feel Satoshi's hand pressed warm against his back. A ghost voice whispers '_I love you_.'


End file.
